


Phoenix

by CalumSmiles (dreamforlife)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Luke is a good friend, M/M, Michael is a good friend, Other people will show up - Freeform, Pining, Post-Break Up, Reunions, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Warnings for horrible fathers but off-screen, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-11-18 12:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18120605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamforlife/pseuds/CalumSmiles
Summary: It’s been just over a year since Calum and Ashton broke up. It’s been nine months since their break-up stopped being a question asked. It’s been six since the media stopped commending them on staying friends, keeping the band together.Calum smiles for the cameras and Ashton tells long, winding stories with bright eyes. The moment the doors close, their stilted silences ring from the corners of every room.It’s when Michael and Luke get married that they speak properly for the first time, side by side on that aisle.It’s at the wedding that the fragile peace shatters.It’s at the wedding that they get their second chance.~~~~~Or, the one where Ashton and Calum break up, fall in love, and complicate life for Michael and Luke. Again.





	1. Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, apparently I'm back! 
> 
> This was something that's been on the back burner for a while, but something I've always wanted to post. It was inspired by a lot of things but I wrote the first scene on a whim and it kind of grew from there into this wild thing I could barely control. It's going to long and it's going to be slow, so be prepared. 
> 
> I hope y'all like it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The screaming echoes in his ears as he walks down the hallway, away from the bright spark of the stage and breaking through the bubble into a dimmer reality. Voices ricochet around him, excitement and congratulations, the thumps on his back making him stumble forward.

“Yo, Cal, sick show, man! I got some _insane_ pics tonight. You guys were fucking _killed_ it!”

Calum looks up, flashing a grin at John when he waves his camera with a simple, happy smile.

“Thanks. Can’t wait to see the pics,” he says.

John nods as he makes his way back the other way. “For sure!”

Calum stands in that crowded hallway for a beat too long, smiling absently, watching people rush by in a post-show haze, before hands grab him and drag him away. He blinks rapidly, shaking out the vacuum in his ears and looks up in time to see Michael pull him into the dressing room.

Shit.               

The once-over of Ashton’s eyes roots him to the spot, a whitewash of soulless hazel, before the warmth bleeds back into them as they turn to look at a nearly vibrating Luke.

Calum sucks in a breath, ignoring the stutter in his chest with a quick glance over Ashton’s sweaty hair and drenched shirt, and tunes back to the other two. Ashton’s eyes had been cool, almost unreadable, for the better part of a year. They were lively, bright and _fond_ when looking at everything, everyone except him. Calum should be over it by now. But he isn’t and his fingers itch and itch and _itch_ for a cigarette.

Luke is grinning, blue eyes lined with tears, left hand shaking as he holds it up. The ring throws a soft gleam over them, warm and inviting despite the clinical white of the fluorescent lights above. Michael is smiling just as wide, cheeks flushed, arm wrapped around his boyfriend— _fiancé—_ his own eyes shining.

“You—” is all Calum can get out before he’s laughing, throwing off the tension with a roll of his shoulders as he slams into the two of them. _“Fuck,_ Mikey, you did it!”

Luke’s disbelieving laughter trickles out, deep and bright and amazed. “Can’t believe he did it _here_.”

Michael is laughing or crying, or both, shoulders shaking as he buries his face in Calum’s shoulder. “I did it,” he whispers, shell-shocked. “He said yes.”

Calum pulls him fully into his arms, heart close to bursting. “Of course he said yes _,_ you idiot, _of course he said yes._ ”

He catches Ashton’s eyes then, just as he looks over at Luke, and it’s like a spear is shoved right between his lungs. Hazel burns with something that looks shockingly like _pain_ but it’s gone in a blink, hardened steel once again, and Calum can’t breathe, the spear twisting sharply before Ashton looks away.

 _Could’ve been us,_ Calum thinks hysterically for a wild, searing moment, eyes stuck on the razor-edge of Ashton’s clenched jaw. Because it hurts, of course it fucking hurts, it blisters in the pit of his stomach, but it’s not about him today, not about them or their stupid—it’s not stupid, it was anything but stupid but _god,_ it’s not the time—break-up. It’s about Michael and Luke. Their best friends. If Calum has to bite the bullet and spend time with Ashton for it, he will. Even if he has to drink himself into oblivion afterwards.

Fuck. He needs to sleep. Wishful thinking was going to leave him shattered on a sidewalk outside a nightclub. Again.

There’s a soft grip on his forearm then and it makes him resurface, pulls his attention to Michael’s warm, forest-green eyes as he backs out of the hug.

“Okay?” He asks quietly.

Calum takes a few deep breaths to centre himself. He smiles. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Something in Michael’s face says he doesn’t entirely believe him and his fingers tighten a little further on Calum’s arm.  

Luke yanks him into a hug before Michael can say anything else and Calum is thankful, pushing Michael towards Ashton with a teary-eyed grin, pushing his own face into Calum’s neck and squeezing him tight.

“I’m getting _married,”_ he says, voice choked and god, he sounds so disbelieving that Calum _aches_. “I’m getting married to _Michael.”_

Calum crushes him right back, grinning into Luke’s hair as they sway with the force of the hug. “You are. Worst decision you’ve ever made.” Luke chokes out an indignant, _“Hey!”_ but he’s laughing as he lets Calum finish. “I’m so happy for you guys, fuck, Luke, I’m so happy.”  

“Thank you,” Luke says softly. “Thanks, Cal.”

“So!” Michael claps his hands to get their attention. “I’ve thought about this a lot over the past few months,” he says, lowering his hands. He smiles when he catches Luke’s eyes, the kind of smile that glows with love and makes Calum ache in places he’d forgotten existed. “I’ve thought about it and…you guys are the closest thing I have to brothers, so, um. Cal, we’ve been best friends since you knocked over my Lego battleship in third grade and—”

He’s nodding before Michael can finish, smiling so wide his cheeks strain with the force of it, stomach warm as he ploughs forward, throwing himself at Michael.

“—I want you to be my best man—!” the words are knocked out of Michael and he’s laughing as Calum thumps him on the back.

“Didn’t even have to ask,” he says, pulling away with a scrunched nose. “You stink, Mike.”

Michael snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yeah because you smell like roses.”

Calum huffs, raising his hands, but he’s grinning hard anyway.

“Uh hem, sorry break up this little lovefest,” Luke calls with a grin. “I still have to say my bit, _fiancé.”_

Calum watches the way Michael lights up at the word, dropping Calum where he is to wrap himself around Luke, pressing their lips together hard and quick, foreheads grinding together.

“I love you,” Michael says breathlessly. His eyes blaze. _“I love you.”_

Luke stares at him with wide blue eyes for a moment. He laughs then, pressing another kiss to Michael’s mouth. “I love you too.” He lets Michael cling to him, a hand on his waist, and looks at Ashton. “Ashton Fletcher Irwin,” he says, puffing his chest, “will you do me the honour of being my best man?”

Ashton’s mouth twitches for a moment as he fights the smile but it pours through, bright and stunning, dimples caving in deep to highlight arching cheekbones. It’s utterly unfair.

“I dunno, man,” Ashton says, rubbing his chin as he schools his face expressionless. “Don’t you have actual brothers?”

“Yeah and if I choose one of them, the other one will never let it go. Mum will kill me if they kill each other.”

“So, I’m the next best choice?”

Luke looks offended, blinking as he jerks backward even though Calum is sure that Ashton is joking, judging by his tone. Then again, what did he know about Ashton these days anyway…

 _“No!”_ Luke shakes his head, throwing his hands out. “You are my _only_ choice, Ash, I swear—”

Ashton’s smile is back, sharp and teasing as he pulls on Luke’s flailing hands and reels him in for a hug. “Don’t pop a blood vessel, princess, I was kidding. I’d love to be your best man.”

Zoe walks in fifteen minutes later to find the four of them throwing back beer, the dressing room just nigh of trashed, and sighs. “Boys…”

“I’m getting married!” Luke hollers, inside voice be damned, cheeks flushed with alcohol, sweaty hair pushed back over his head. _“We’re_ getting married, Zo!”

Michael is sucking on the hinge of Luke’s jaw, glued to his side on the couch but apparently, he has enough presence of mind to throw a thumbs-up in Zoe’s general direction.

Calum spots the moment Zoe realises that they really are being serious. Her usual eye-roll snags midway on the new ring that glints on Luke’s finger.

“Holy shit,” she says, suddenly looking stumped.

Ashton tosses her a can of beer and raises his own in solidarity. “Join the club.”

Zoe cracks open the beer and drains half of it, dropping onto the arm of a couch with wide eyes.

Calum hides a smile in the rim of his own drink and ignores Ashton’s bright look as it slides over him to their friends.

 

***

 

He’s outside the bus when Ashton comes to find him.

While the sight alone is enough to send Calum scrambling for a pack, he’s already got a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers, his second of the half-hour, and he’s glad Ashton’s eyes are hidden behind reflective sunglasses as he takes a drag because he doesn’t need to see the disapproval today.

While it’s no surprise that Ashton has chosen to approach him outside in a public space, Calum still shakes himself to reassure himself that that smoke hadn’t gotten to his brain more than the usual.

What could he possibly want? What could Ashton need so _desperately_ that he’s come to Calum for it? When was the last time Ashton had come to him like this?

Neither of them say a word and the seconds drip by like molasses.

“We need to talk.”

He stills.

Ashton’s voice is snappy, cut off and short in a way that tells Calum he isn’t playing a game. Something about Ashton’s tone reminds him of robot. Probably the obvious lack of emotion. He can hear the echo of the teasing tone that used to lie under the words like it was yesterday.

Calum says nothing.

Eventually Ashton coughs, pointed and terse. Calum drops his head back against the warm metal of the bus and waits.

“The speeches can’t overlap,” Ashton says.

“What speeches?” He asks, head rolling against the bus to look at Ashton.

A muscle ticks in that strong jaw and Calum hides his wry amusement behind the smoke that billows out of his mouth.

“The best-man speeches.” Right. Those speeches. “Whatever funny shit I put in mine can’t be in yours.”

Mine.

Yours.

 _There was a time when mine and yours were the same thing,_ Calum doesn’t say. _There was a time when I thought I’d get to have you forever._

_I can’t, Calum. I can’t do this._

_What do you mean?!_

_I can’t. I have to go._

_Ash—_

_I have to go._

Calum stares up at the empty blue sky, corralling his spiralling thoughts. “Send me your speech when you write it,” he says, ignoring the numbness that spreads through him.

“No.”

He has to laugh aloud at that, the sound dry and painfully amused, lips pulling up as he takes a long drag. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Right. ‘Course.”

The words drift on the dry wind into the deserts of Arizona.

Ashton is gone when he makes himself look away from the sky. He eyes drift back over the endless red sand as cigarette smoke curls around him like armour.

“Good talk.”

 

***

 

“Who wants to kiss _Calum?”_ Michael hollers.

It’s basically tradition now and so Calum bears it, faking a groan as the grin breaks through anyway. Let’s the high of the last night wash over him and throws the finger in Michael’s direction. “Fuck you, Michael!”

Luke barks a squeaky laugh. “He said, WHO WANTS TO KISS CALUM?!”

The crowd loses it, screaming and cheering, a chorus of _‘MEEEEEEE’_ ringing up to the rafters of the arena that make Calum flush as if it was the first time Michael had called out that stupid question. 

Ashton’s laughing too, beautiful and dimpling, twirling a drumstick between long fingers as he walks down from the drum kit. “You’re blushing, Cal,” he calls into Luke’s microphone as he walks forward.

Cal.

_Cal._

His name draped in Ashton’s voice rings in his ears above the noise of the crowd, echoing louder and louder until all he can see is Ashton. Ashton whose eyes are bright, brimming with stage lights and golden-green hazel as he looks at Calum in that moment with an uninhibited grin.  

And so, Calum gives in to the raging desire that’s been burning in his stomach for too long. He hugs Ashton for the first time in twelve months onstage on the final night of tour with twenty thousand fans screaming down the house, catching Ashton around the waist as he goes to walks past and letting his fingers curl into the sweat-soaked back of his t-shirt.

Ashton collides with him like a hurricane and the quivering part of Calum that’s been starved of Ashton’s touch blooms under the contact.

A faint chant of _CASHTON! CASHTON! CASHTON!_ ripples through the explosion of noise and dies just as quick. He squeezes Ashton tight though and hooks his chin over the swell of a shoulder, shuddering inside as Ashton returns the hug just as hard and his body lights up like Christmas Eve, emotions bubbling over into tears hastily swiped away. He hopes the shadow of Ashton’s head hid that from the cameras.

 _God. Oh God._ He’s missed this so much.

He can feel each of Ashton’s fingers pressed into his back like a brand, fingerprints searing through his tank top to tattoo themselves on his skin, and it’s distracting, intoxicating, and he struggles to uncurl his own fingers out of Ashton’s shirt.

Ashton doesn’t look at him as they pull apart a heartbeat later, the hug lasting all of one shining, blazing moment, spinning on his heel to tackle Luke into a headlock-turned-cuddle as they stumble towards the front of the catwalk.

Calum keeps smiling, chest aching and heartbeat heady like thunder between his ribs that threatens to drown him. He knows his face must show _everything_ as he keeps watching Ashton, knows that the punch-drunk smile on his face gives away all the feelings tangled in each beat of his heart. But in that moment, as Ashton throws his head back and laughs, he knows that he doesn’t care.

He lets Michael pull him into a breathless hug, laughing as he’s dragged towards the other two and the four of them end up in a pile in a failed attempt at a four-way hug. The unguarded look in Ashton’s eyes is seared into the darkness as he closes his eyes, hidden behind Luke’s torso.

He wonders, sometimes, when they would crack. Wonders what would happen if Ashton’s acting just fell apart one day, if his own smiles and teasing jabs cracked with the tears that threatened onstage sometimes when they were playing it up for the fans because _it felt so real up there_. Wonders what the fans would say if they found out that it was all one massive, wretched lie. Wonders what they would say if they found out that Ashton _hated_ him. Wonders, distantly, if it would be worse if they knew Calum was still in love with him. Wonders what they would say if they could see how his heart is held together with scotch tape that’s peeling at the edges.

But for now, he just laughs and lets himself believe that Ashton still loves him as he catches those shining eyes again.

“THANK YOU, MEXICO CITY!” Luke yells into the microphone snagged in Michael’s hand and it brings Calum crashing out of his head, leaving him glad that his face is unseen because god knows how he looks right now. “We’ll see you soon!”

The laughter and carefree drive of adrenalin spills with them off stage, the wave breaking into the dressing room amidst ecstatic yells and cans of beer tossed at each other’s heads.

Their fingers brush as Calum hands Ashton a towel. Ashton catches his eyes for a split-second, bright but shuttering, turning away. Calum swallows a resigned sigh and throws himself onto Michael lap, legs thrown over Luke, cheerfully disrupting the kissing pair.

“Come on, kids! You can suck face later, ‘cos right now, we’re celebrating!”

When Luke mutters something choice under his breath, Ashton whips him with the edge of his towel without a word.

Calum bites his lip to stop a giddy smile breaking out.

If he empties the booze in the mini-fridge of his hotel room later, it’s because he gave in and trawled through the trending posts in the CASHTON tag on Tumblr for over an hour. If he asks for more alcohol from room service, it’s because he saw his own face giffed from seven different angles as he stared after Ashton as he slipped out of his arms, the naked longing written in the smile on his face uncomfortably plain for anyone with eyes. If he passes out at four a.m. on the floor, surrounded by dozens of miniature empty glass bottles, it’s because every other post is screaming about Ashton’s supposedly adoring gaze settled on him right before The HugTM.

 

***

 

Michael wakes him up the next morning with a glass of water to the face.

Calum startles awake, wincing against the sudden brightness. His head pounds. “What the fuck,” he groans and flips over, glass clinking around him, to shove his wet face into the carpet, uncaring about the possible diseases living in it. Maybe if he contracted some incurable disease, he could live out his days in isolation.

“Let me sleep.”

It comes out more jumbled and incoherent than Calum would like but them’s the breaks when he’s got a hangover and wants to disappear out of existence.

“I think my personal favourite is ‘ _Oh my god, guys, Ashton’s still in love with Calum!’”_ Michael squeals in a high-pitched voice. “But _‘guys, Calum’s heart is in his fucking EYES, are y’all seeing the way he looked at Ash?!’_ is right up there.”

Right. That’s what he’d been doing last night.

Ignoring the sickened turn of his stomach, Calum takes a breath, opening his eyes to stare into the grey carpet. Light seeps in around him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”

Michael clearly doesn’t understand English because he takes that as an invitation to clamber onto the perfectly clean bed and make himself comfortable while Calum lays on the floor in the remnants of his mistakes.

“Cal, you reek like bar collapsed on you,” Michael says. “What the hell were you _thinking?”_

“Clearly, I wasn’t,” Calum mutters into the carpet.

He gets a snort for that one. With a sigh, he accepts that this is his life now.

“I was thinking that I was already drunk and I wanted to see how that hug played out to everyone else and I miss Ashton like my soul’s been fucking carved out with a spoon and the whole fucking world can see that now so why the fuck not try to drink it away.”

There’s a silence.

“Cal…”

He groans, flipping over onto his back and digging his palms into his eyes. “Don’t, Michael.” There’s a bottle burrowing into his upper back and he can’t be fucked to care. “Forget I said anything.”

“You think I don’t know you’re still in love with him?”

Calum’s chest hitches so hard a choked sound spills out of him. _“Stop,”_ he begs quietly. “Stop. I can’t do this now.” _Or ever._ “Please—”

There are hot tears filling up behind his closed eyelids and they slip down his temples as he lies there with the heels of his hands pressed hard into his eyes. He’s too hungover to deal with this. The darkness spins.

“Fuck,” he says. Two sharp breaths break over each other. “Michael—”

There are warm hands pulling him up and on to the bed before Calum can get anything else out, an arm pulling him into Michael’s side as they sit in the silent room. He leans his pounding head against Michael’s, shuddering.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. His voice is soft, aching. “I hate seeing you like this, Cal, I can’t—fuck, and I can’t do anything to fix it. There’s nothing I can _do_ and it’s _awful_.”

Calum sniffles, wiping a hand across his runny nose. “You don’t have to, it’s not on you, I…I shouldn’t be like this, it’s been almost a year, I should be—”

“Calum, you wanted to _marry_ him, I think you’re allowed to be messed up about it!” Michael pushes the words out in a rush, arm tight around Calum, other hand coming to crush his knee. “Shit, you have _every right_ to be fucked up about this…”

He cringes in on himself, the words sharp as they rattle around him. “It was too soon to be thinking about that anyway,” he murmurs, swallowing past the shards of glass in his throat.

Michael’s laugh is thin.

“Cal, you’d been best friends for six years and in love with him for four of them. You guys…you guys were _amazing_ together, as best friends and boyfriends, it was impossible to believe how you worked sometimes. You telling me that you wanted to marry him one day was probably the least surprising thing you could’ve said. Maybe except wanting to have his kids because he’d make a great father.”

“I—” his voice shatters on it, thick and brittle.

_You’re just walking out then? You’re just leaving me because you got scared? You’re just like your fucking father, Ashton!_

It had been the final nail in the coffin.

He’ll never forget those eyes as they had flicked up to look at him, drained of light and dulled hazel, the curl to his lips before Ashton had responded, sounding amused in a way that haunts Calum every day.

_Is that what you think?_

“I shouldn’t have said it,” he blurts out and his breathing is caught in his throat, stuck there, and he can’t _breathe—_ “I shouldn’t have said it, I shouldn’t have said—”

_Just like your fucking father, Ashton!_

Calum knows Michael has no idea what he’s talking about; he never told Michael, never told anyone just what he’d said to Ashton before their relationship, their friendship had exploded in their faces. But through the dark haze in his head, it’s the only thing he can gasp out as his own horrible voice rings in his head.

_Just like your father—_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, hey, hey, I’m here, I’m sorry,” Michael mumbles, over and over, until Calum can breathe again, clutching Michael so hard the shirt seams strain, everything aching and his own feelings so painfully incongruent with the bright sunshine spilling into the room.

Mexico seems so far away.

“I want to go home.” He folds forward, elbows bruising his knees as his head pushes into his hands. His fingers wind tight into his own hair, the stinging pain a bittersweet relief against the roiling tide of nauseous memories. “I just really want to go home.”

Michael rubs his back. “Our flight is the afternoon. We’ll be in LA tonight.”

Calum shakes his head, slowly to keep the world from spinning. “I want to go _home,_ Mike.”

“Oh.”  

The sigh drifts heavy from Michael. Calum waits for the argument. It never comes.

“We’ll get you home.” The words are quiet, a promise.

His shoulders sink, relief pounding sharp in his head. He turns to look over his shoulder at Michael. “Thanks.”

Michael’s reddened eyes shine, an edge of unshed tears clinging to them, as he holds his gaze. “Always.”

Calum loves him fiercely in that moment.


	2. skin deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry it's taken so long, life just got in the way, uni and family etc. etc. But this fic's definitely not been abandoned, so I've cut my plans for chapter two a little short to bring you this little thing so you know what Calum's up to. Hope you enjoy! Thank for sticking with me for anyone who's been waiting! (Shoutout to you Kristi!)
> 
> Disclaimer: Calum's paternal grandmother has passed away in this fic, I'm not actually sure if this is true or not. Also, Bunnings is a hardware chain store in Australia, Flower Power is a plant nursery/garden store, and blood and bone is fertiliser. 
> 
> Enjoy xx

Sydney swallows him into its folds like a blanket straight out of the dryer, familiar and comforting, as he steps out of the Uber into a calm autumn evening on the driveway of his childhood home. He couldn’t go to his own house on the outskirts of a housing estate in Bella Vista, he couldn’t, petrified that the memories of Ashton there would drown him as he stepped across the threshold. He hasn’t been back to that house in almost a year. Michael had told him enough to make him stay away; the over-bright fittings, Ashton’s notebooks, a forgotten pair of sticks, the necklace, their record player—

Calum feels his chest squeeze, eyes suddenly stinging when his mother smiles at him from the front porch.

“Hi mum,” he chokes out and he’s dropping his bags and collapsing into her arms before she can reply, feeling small and fifteen again though he’s bent over her, on the cusp of dropping out of school and fleeing this back-end-of-Sydney suburb for the siren call of London.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs and holds him tight.

 

***

 

His bedroom is as he left it, so long ago. A chaotic tornado of teen angst boarded up behind faceless boxes with Sharpie labels, bursting at the ripped cardboard corners, stacked in the corners of his room, the empty desk and drooping desk lamp, the bed with fresh sheets his mother must have fixed up after his quiet phone call from the airport.

Luke’s old, busted rugby ball sits forlorn on a box, scuffed into a beige-brown in places, stitches fraying. Next to it is a battered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, probably dug out from under his bed where he had thrown it in frustration after the godforsaken essay had been handed in. It’s been so long since he’d had to care about Atticus Finch or Boo Radley.  

Calum’s lips twitch as he drops his bag on the floor by the desk, scrubbing the baseball cap off his head, and rubs a slow hand down his face, breathing in the memories of a childhood in this room. A faint echo of Michael complaining about maths homework comes to him, of Mali’s lilting voice drifting from the bathroom, and he huffs a soft laugh, dropping onto his bed and staring at the old Zeppelin poster next to his wardrobe. Its edges are missing, ripped away, the rest still stuck fast to the wall.

“Don’t know what you stuck that on with but we’ve never managed to get it off.”

His mum is watching him quietly from the doorway and Calum heaves a sigh, tearing his eyes away from the poster, catching her gaze.

“Superglue,” he says, smiling lightly.

“I suppose it’ll just have to be your mark on this house,” Joy says. “Along with the permanent marker behind the TV and the gouge in the garage wall.”

Calum laughs. “It adds personality, mum.”

“I’ve got Italian from the place you like,” is what she says in response, shaking her head. There’s a gleeful edge to it when she says, “Enough mozzarella sticks to make you sick.”

“That was one time! A man eats twenty mozzarella sticks and throws up in the car _one time,_ and he never hears the end of it.” Calum groans but gets to his feet, grinning. He curls an arm over her shoulder, presses a hard kiss to the side of her head. “Thanks, mum.”

Joy squeezes his arm. “Come on, before your dad decides that you don’t need any of the rigatoni.”

 

***

 

He spends a couple of weeks holed up at home, watching documentaries with his mum, nails caked with dirt from his dad’s vegetable garden, burning through an old collection of fantasy novels he had left behind.

The books stir something in him, a nostalgia, a yearning for the years he spent in this house, the simplicity of routine, of school-soccer-homework, of Michael slamming into his room with a guitar and a hesitant Luke hanging off his arm. Of countless hours on the carpet, leant against his bed, learning to play an instrument just so he could be in the band. One day with a boy he’d never seen before, a boy with hazel eyes and a fringe that rivalled Michael’s. Of that boy with hazel eyes, always warm and encouraging, sitting across from him against the desk and tossing skittles into his mouth for every chord he got right.

The long hours he spends in the garden are his most peaceful.

Calum has never been one for compost and earthworms and weeding, but this garden is his father’s oasis and soon, under the early autumn heat of the Australian sun and deep blue skies, it becomes his too. He reads under the towering eucalypt in their backyard, laid out on a picnic rug, shaded by the wide branches of their neighbour’s mulberry tree. He prunes the hedges, mows the lawn, helps dig up an old tomato vine that had died.

He goes on a Bunnings run in his mum’s car to pick up a new bags of blood and bone, a new pitchfork to replace the one he broke by jamming it into the ground too hard, and an impulsively bought fat garden gnome to stand guard over the new camellias. He tags along with his dad to Flower Power, hanging on to the cart like a five-year-old and getting distracted by a bee while his dad picked out some hanging pots for the back porch.

_“Calum.”_

“What?” He snaps up, turning to look at his dad with a sheepish grin.

David shakes his head at the salesperson, who is watching Calum with an uncomfortably knowing look in her eye. “You’d think he was five, not twenty-four, wouldn’t you?” He says, before gesturing to the pots on display. “Which one?”

Calum huffs a laugh and points at the brown baskets. “That one.” He ends up signing the back of a receipt for the girl who helped them out, but he doesn’t really mind.

But most of those two, quiet weeks, he just reads.

His dad hands him a set of old books one day, faded but clearly well-loved copies of Reader’s Digests from the forties, fifties, collections of condensed novels that had been his grandmother’s favourite.

“For a change from the wizards and gods,” David says with a smile. He sets four on the bed and hands him one. “A little bit of reality.”

Calum laughs, thumb stroking across the worn cloth cover of the book, and thinks of his grandmother. He remembers these books, their leather spines stacked on the shelves in a bright, cosy living room, remembers the bedtime stories that are just hazy memories now.

“I miss her,” he says softly.

David settles a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Me too.”

He takes a book out to the garden the next day, lays on his stomach and dives into _The China I Knew,_ gets lost in a world so far from his own that he forgets the gnawing hollow in the pit of his stomach, even if just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I'll try not to make it another three months before chapter 3!! Thanks so much for reading, so much love to you always. Comment and let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thank you!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you liked it, I'll love you forever! I've written a lot of it so I'd like to keep going so I really hope you guys like the idea. It's quite angsty but we all enjoy angst, don't we? My updates won't be consistent, just whenever I manage to finish chapters (uni and all) but I will finish it if you guys like it! 
> 
> Come visit me @aneverendingreplay on tumblr :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Just a quick note: I do not give permission for this to be reposted anywhere. So please, if you see it anywhere except archive, let me know.


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